


Machete

by kawaii5lyfe



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gift, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how to tag this, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaii5lyfe/pseuds/kawaii5lyfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“And you said I don't know where I'm going. I just know that I'm heading from the dead things piling up behind me.” </i>- Amanda Palmer, “Machete”</p><p>Running from the ghosts that haunted him made Jack Morrison, now Soldier 76, act recklessly trying to protect everyone. He never imagined the hands that would save him would be so small.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Machete

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessharumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessharumi/gifts).



> Not required listening, but I recommend my reads listen to the song the inspired me to write this fic.

Mercy chastised him once for always rushing in and getting hurt.

_ “You’re not invincible, Jack.” _

_ “Is that a challenge?” _

It was a good natured joke at the time. Mercy had dipped her head to try and hide the smile that curved her lips. She was a pretty girl; tender hearted and good natured. The type his mother would insist he settle down with. Morrison would have considered it if she wasn’t already Reyes’s girl, if he wasn’t married to Overwatch already.

Overwatch. The blessing that saved the world before quickly cursing it. Memories of being the Strike-Commander burned more than any bullet piercing his flesh. Memories of handing crisply folded flags to grieving family members of soldiers he couldn’t protect. Memories of watching Reyes grow colder, the memory of finding the insides of Gaspard’s head painting the wall of his bedroom, memories of sitting in pools of his comrades blood trying desperately to stabilize them before Mercy could get to them. Ghosts with all too familiar faces visited him in his dreams. Haunting him when he was awake. The shame of not being able to protect those he loved kept him away for too long.

Mercy was the first to recognize him. Morrison let her remove the tactical visor and mask, let her run her fingers over the lines and scars on his face. She was weeping and his arms felt heavy when he lifted them to wrap them around her slender shoulders. Morrison tried to tell WInston that his mission was different now when the ape asked him to return to the newly recalled Overwatch. He was ready to walk away, to turn his back on the reminders of his failures when he saw how young and green the new recruits were. They were kids, literally. He recognized the disc-jockey first from posters around the cities Morrison had traveled.

Lucio was effervescent, and terminally optimistic. It was sometimes difficult for Morrison to be around him. It didn’t feel right to have that bright smile pointed at him, to be continually encouraged by someone so much younger. Lucio became like the son Morrison would never have, and he risked his life to put himself between the kid and danger. He would protect him; he wouldn’t fail.

Then there was Hana. She was introduced to him as D.Va, but he never called her that. She had been irritated with him the first dozen times he used her given name, snapping at Morrison to use her code name. 

_ “You’re a soldier now. It’s either Hana or Song, kid.” _

Her shoulders drooped with an exasperated sigh when she finally gave up on trying to stop him. Morrison found her both irritating and endearing which made tensions run higher on missions. Hana never cried in front of her teammates, but Morrison had seen her eyes gleam with tears more than once from him barking reprimands at her. Part of him felt horrible for being so hard on her, but the battle worn soldier side of him told him it was for her own good. Hana was a reliable teammate, and she cared about the success of others. She could also see his silent suffering. 

They were holding down a checkpoint in China during the Lunar New Year and while everyone was in awe of the colorful display of the fireworks, Morrison was holding his pulse rifle in a vice like grip willing his heart to stop beating hard against his ribs. The explosions and fizzles clicked that phantom in the back of his mind that told him to drop defensively, that something was wrong. Sweat was beading on his brow as ghosts appeared in the crowd giving him accusatory stares. He tried to ignore the prickly feeling on the back of his neck telling him that he was being watched but he turned his head to find Hana gazing at him with an expression of worry. She stayed by his side surprisingly silent and he took comfort in that. They never talked about it, but Morrison got the distinct feeling that Hana was learning his triggers. Whenever a cold sweat would break over his skin from a sudden loud sound, or scent or scene, Hana was there serving as an anchor. She would stand or sit close enough to touch, their knuckles almost brushing but it was like she knew being touched was the last thing he wanted. Her presence was comforting in a way he couldn’t count explain. Morrison would protect her; he wouldn’t fail.

 

-0-

 

His Tactical Visor was broken. He had been reckless, rushing ahead of Reinhardt’s failing shield to try and draw the enemy fire away from his comrades. It worked to an extent except that it also kept him away from his team. He took too many hits and used the last Biotic Field to try and staunch his bleeding wounds from a grenade explosion that damaged his equipment. Morrison leaned heavily against a wall trying to catch his breath and pressed a hand to his side.

“Damn.” he growled looking at the blood staining his glove when he drew his hand away.

Blood smeared the wall when he pushed off of it and hobbled into an alcove to try and regroup. Pulling the useless equipment from his eyes Morrison tossed it to the side squinting in the natural light. He could hear the sounds of combat in the distance. There was only static coming from his communicator and he assumed it too was broken from the explosion. There was a coppery taste in his mouth and investigating with his tongue revealed that he bit his cheek hard enough to bleed. Morrison was no stranger to the taste of blood in his mouth but he hated it. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he couldn’t tear the mask from his face fast enough to spit the taste from his mouth. He wet his dry lips with his tongue glancing around the corners of the alcove before ducking further into his temporary cover to asses the damage he’d taken. As the adrenaline wore off the burn of a bullet sitting in the meat of his left thigh drew his attention. Blood had soaked his pant leg and made the fabric dark and sticky. Morrison gingerly ran his fingertips over the small lacerations on his forehead. Hissing he tested its depth and figured he’d need a few stitches from Mercy when he made it back to base. If he made it back. 

An explosion in the distance made him flinch and he raised his Pulse Rifle aiming at nothing. His knees buckled, pain exploding from the bullet wound sending him crumpling to the ground. He swore pushing him up on his arms and scooting so his back was supported by the wall. Something large was moving toward him. Heavy mechanical footsteps echoed all around Morrison and he quickly checked how many shots he had left in the magazine of the rifle. He wasn’t going without a fight, and if he was lucky he’d take whatever bastard was hunting him down with him. His eyes widened slightly when the large shadow of Hana’s MEKA cast over the entrance of the alcove and she stomped into view. She fixed him with a hard stare and he wondered briefly if she was going to fire first. Luckily recognition dawned on her face and she hastily exited the MEKA.

“Hana, what the hell are you doing!” Morrison snapped watching Hana run to crouch by him.

“What the hell am  _ I doing _ ?!” her tone was pointed, her brows knitted together as she glared at the older man. “What the hell are  _ you _ doing,  _ noin _ ?”

Morrison gritted his teeth as he pushed himself into more of a sitting position. “Watch your tone.”

Hana chewed her bottom lip and he watched her eyes move over his body, no doubt observing his wounds. It also gave him a moment to take in her disheveled state he almost overlooked. She had a scrape on her forehead and a cut on her chin. Dirt was smudged in the sweat on her face, and there were a few holes torn in her body suit revealing small scrapes on her ivory skin. Hana looked like she walked through one of the layers of hell and survived.

“Wait here.” She stood suddenly and trotted back over to her MEKA.

Morrison blinked and tried to stand but his stiff joints refused to accommodate him.

“ _ Shit! _ ” he hissed tilting his head back against the wall eyeing Hana. “What are you doing, kid?”

He could see her standing on her tiptoes as she rummaged inside the cockpit of the MEKA. She pulled a small pouch that looked like it was meant to hold pencils from somewhere and hurried back over to kneel by his side. Everything Hana owned was cute. The pouch she was currently unzipping was pink with small rabbits printed in a repeating pattern all over it. Morrison’s eyes flicked between her concentrated expression and the band-aids she was pulling from the pouch. He could see through the thin paper that the band-aids were brightly colored and he frowned when she dropped them in his lap.

“Hold these.” She muttered digging through the pouch again.

Morrison grunted and turned his gaze to the area outside of the alcove. They shouldn’t be holed up in here. It was a death trap if an enemy got the drop on them. He opened his mouth to tell her they needed to move but the only sound that left his mouth as grunt of pain. Hana was packing the bullet wound on his thigh with gauze with has much finesse as a Reinhardt trying to prune a bonsai. He lifted his leg when she snaked her fingers under his thigh to wrap a bandage around her quick tourniquet.

“I’m glad to see you were paying attention during those trainings.” Morrison smirked at Hana.

She didn’t return his smile. She brought her chocolate brown eyes to his bright blues with a sort of shy expression. It was very uncharacteristic for her.

“This is the first time I’ve got to see your face.” Hana whispered while unwrapping one of the band-aids.

_ Oh. _ He had all but forgotten that he discarded both his Tactical Visor and mask. He felt strangely vulnerable under her innocent stare and he had to force himself to look away, mouth set in a firm line. She gently pressed the flimsy bandage to the cut on his forehead. It was too large for just one and his eyes flicked down to her fingers unwrapping a second one.

“You’re…” color rose in Hana’s cheeks, keeping her eyes trained on her work. “Handsome. Like, really really.”

Morrison snorted. “Did you get a concussion when you got that scrape?”

He could see Hana blow out her cheeks in a pout in his peripheral vision. He was handsome when he was younger, when he was in his prime, when he was Strike-Commander Morrison. He was handsome before the ghosts of his failures clung to him like wet newspaper to the pavement.

“I can’t believe you.” Hana’s voice was trembling, forcing Morrison to look her in the face.

Her eyes gleamed with tears, her hands balled into fists on top of her thighs.

“Why can’t you just accept that people care about you?” She said with a crack in her voice.

“What--?” Morrison’s brows pulled together.

“You can’t just let yourself get your ass handed to you like this!” Hana’s tone was both desperate and accusatory.

“I was trying to protect you!” Morrison snapped, anger prickling at his nerves. He forced himself to his feet. “Did you not see how many were on us? Reinhardt’s shield was about to go, someone needed to--!”

“Why do you always try to take the world on by yourself?” tears were streaming down Hana’s cheeks as she cut him off, scrambling to her feet. “You’re no good to us dead. We need you!”

They held each other’s gaze, Morrison couldn’t pinpoint where these emotions were coming from. It was something more than just the fear of losing a comrade, he could make that much out. She drew in a shaking breath closing the small distance between them, curling her fingers around the open lapel of his jacket. He narrowed his gaze at her, his Pulse Rifle hanging limp at his side in his hand.

“I need you, you idiot…” she whispered.

The pieces fell into place. Every sidelong glance she gave him, every comfortable silence shared between them, and every time she begrudgingly followed orders he’d given when she would have argued if it were anyone else made sense. Morrison’s gaze softened. He lifted a heavy hand to tentatively wipe away her tears with his thumb. She closed her eyes at the light pressure of his caress. She sniffled and she looked so small and fragile. His body seemed to move of it’s own accord and he wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders pulling her into a half hug. Hana didn’t weep but her shoulders shook. Morrison stared silently ahead unable to put the thoughts running through his mind into words. Reinhardt’s baritone erupted from Hana’s communicator signaling that they were able to take control of the point. The mission was a success.

 

-0-

 

“Did you thank her?”

Morrison had his arms folded behind his head laying on the examination table in the infirmary. He craned his neck to look up at Mercy who was busy removing the bullet from his thigh. She glanced at him and he let his head fall back into the cradle of his arms. His eyes traced the pattern of the ceiling tiles recollecting how Hana wordlessly walked away from him after Reinhardt announced their victory, how she leaned against him in her exhaustion on the flight home.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Mercy sighed pulling the foreign metal free.

Morrison winced. “Didn’t get the chance.”

He couldn't see her face but he knew she was frowning disapprovingly at him. He closed his eyes feeling the tug and pull of the medical needle pulling his skin back together. The signs had been there but Morrison had overlooked them. He had mistaken Hana’s actions as just a brother-in-arms looking out for one another. He made the mistake of allowing himself to depend on her. Morrison cared about Hana. It wasn’t the same way he felt about Lucio or Reinhardt, or Mercy, but something unique he couldn’t quite put into words. Morrison never felt comfortable confronting his own feelings. He told himself he didn’t deserve the love of others, and his love wasn’t worth the dirt on the soles of his boots. Mercy slapping his bare thigh brought him out of his reverie and his eyes snapped open to glare at the blond.

“Make a point to, Jack.” Mercy pulled the rubber gloves from her hands and turned to wash up. “She needs to know she’s appreciated.”

Muscles aching in protest Morrison dressed in silence. He mumbled his thanks to the doctor, laying a hand on her shoulder for a brief moment as he left the room. He pinched the bridge of his nose and growled out an exasperated sigh. He knew he really should thank the kid; Hana deserved that at least.

He found her in the hallway returning to her quarters; hair wet and dripping, skin glowing from being scrubbed clean in the shower. Her pace slowed to a near stop but she directed her feet to walk around him mumbling a soft “good night” when he caught her by the arm.

“Hey! What the hell?” Hana protested trying to tug her arm from his grasp.

“You deserve better.” Morrison found himself speaking before fully registering what it was he was saying.  _ Dammit, _ it was just suppose to be a simple thank you.

Hana’s mouth fell open slightly as she considered the older man. After the mission debriefing Winston had retreated to his office with Morrison’s Tactical Visor for repairs and the old soldier felt vulnerable once more without it under Hana’s gaze. 

She stopped fighting against his grip, and she frowned looking up at his lined face. “You don’t think I don’t know that?”

It was the sort of answer Morrison expected from Hana; surly and vain. What Morrison did not expect was for her to turn her body so that she was able to press it flush against his own, stretching up on her tiptoes to press a closed mouth kiss to his lips.

No holds barred was her style and Morrison’s eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. The hand holding her arm went slack and Hana used the opportunity to wrap her slim arms around his neck. Her lips felt so soft against his and he almost regretted peeling her arms away to break the sweet kiss. Hana’s cheeks were rosy and she was pouting as Morrison held her wrists. His grip wasn’t tight enough to cause discomfort but not loose enough for her to slip away easily. He absent mindedly stroked the petal soft skin of the inside of her wrist with a calloused thumb.

“I swear to god if you tell me that I’m young and I don’t know what I want right now, I will knee you in the junk so hard you’ll be speaking falsetto for a week!” Hana threatened, and Morrison would never admit it outloud but it was goddamn adorable.

She  _ was _ young even if this was what she  _ thought _ she wanted. Part of him was screaming at him that he was old enough to be her father, that she could never love him because of the monster he was and that she was a fickle little shit that would move on to the “newer model” at any given chance. The other half of Morrison was telling him that Hana wanted  _ him _ , that she saw him for more than his demons, and even if she did leave him at least she made him feel worth something now.

Uncertainty was seeping into Hana’s expression and she tested his grip on his wrists with a light tug. Morrison’s eyes dropped to his hands as he tentatively pulled her closer so that he could guide her arms around his waist. She stumbled into him, her eyes going round when he cradled her cheek in one of his hands. He felt like he should say something, anything, but no words came to him so instead he dipped his head to gently brush his lips against hers.

He watched her eyes flutter close and suppressed a shiver of pleasure when she slide her hands up his back pulling her body closer against his. He pressed a true kiss to her lips and she made a sound between a sigh and a whimper. Morrison could feel Hana’s body thrumming with anticipation and excitement as he looped his arms around her tiny frame. She felt so precious and delicate to him. With a slight tilt of his head Morrison opened his mouth against hers and couldn’t keep the gravely moan from escaping his mouth when Hana greedily swept her tongue into his mouth. His body came to attention when Hana gently sucked at his tongue. She was stretching on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss, and Morrison moved his hands to cradle her face. Hana electrified him, made him feel alive. Morrison broke the kiss enough to nip gently at her bottom lip, relishing in the perfect whimper that Hana emitted.

“Dammit,” he breathed as he gently pushed the young woman away so that there was some space between them. “I was just supposed to thank you.”

Hana giggled, her cheeks rosy and a slow smile curved her swollen lips. She ran her hands up his chest, tracing her fingertips over his collarbone.

“If this is the thanks I get for patching you up, I’ll have to do it more often.” Hana responded coquettishly.  
Morrison snorted and couldn’t help but smirk at her teasing. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers and she leaned into his touch gently. He pulled her into a hug then, her face nuzzed against his chest as he stroked a hand over her damp hair. Everything in that moment felt right. There were no ghosts, not terrible flashbacks, no reminders of how he failed so many people. There was only Hana and the taste of her on his lips, and her small but strong hands holding him. He needed her, and he would protect her even at the cost of his life. He wouldn’t fail.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't ship 76 and D.Va myself, but I thought I'd try my hand at it since I had writers block for my other stories. I hope I did okay /sweats My headcanon for 76 is that he has pretty bad ptsd and a lot of self loathing. It was really hard not to play up the dad!76 meme but I hope you guys enjoy this little drabble!


End file.
